You Say I Ran, I say E Ron – (A Pictorial Peek)

Banafsheh, who I like to call B, is a dear family friend, trilingual attorney, witty wordsmith, and (gratefully for me) avid shutter bug. All of the pictures in this post (unless specified otherwise) are hers that she shared with me. (Mer30 Banafsheh joon!) This first pic is of B peering into the viewfinder of a diorama — a 19th century mobile-theatre device invented in France — imported to and popularized in Iran by Mozafar od-din Shah, the then king of Iran, who came across its prototype in Paris.

This intriguing contraption of moving images — the cutting-edge technology of its time, offering the masses peeps at never-before-seen images of exotic people and lands — came to be branded as shahr ‘e farang, which literally means “City of Europe” but is more aptly (thanks to @arefadib) translated as “The Unseen World.” Anecdotal evidence has it that its entrepreneurial operators (who were called amoo shahreh farang) would set up shop on street corners and attract customers by sing-songing: “shahr, shareh farangeh; hameh chish khosh ab va rangeh …” which means: “the city is a European city, and everything there is colorful and beautiful …” People lined up.

Here’s what that early-adopter techie king looked like – photo via Wiki:

Now, this particular shahr ‘eh farang device that B can be seen charmingly peering into in the picture (above) is housed in a shiny, relatively new (circa 2007, I believe) public space in Tehran called Borj ‘eh Milad or Milad Tower.

Here are some pix of it:

The giant hand-painted eggs were for a festival for the recent Norooz celebration

Favareh (fountains) have always been BIG in Persian public-space landscaping.

My kingdom for a real-life peek at the snow-capped peaks of the Damavand mountains

Milad Tower seems to be a rather impressive space –jayehabroomandaneh as B calls it- thoughtfully and tastefully laid out. Apparently, it is a multi-purpose compound — an international convention & trade center with a hotel, restaurant, IT park, etc. — meant for both sightseeing and commerce.

And judging by the pictures, it looks like it’s situated high enough to offer a sweeping vista of Tehran. A vista guarded under the watchful gaze of the statue of Ferdosi, beloved iconic poet, “the Homer of Iran,” the savior of the Persian language:

This place didn’t exist when I lived in Iran. Here I am, with the aid of a modern-day shahr ‘e farang, raptly peering at images of a distant homeland – at sights entirely new to me.

Looking at these pictures, I feel … I feel like Rip Van Winkle. And can I tell you something? … I’m homesick. HOMESICK. Is it alright for me to say that?

[If I was originally from almost any other country, I would not worry about being judged for this sentiment, and I would not ponder -as I have, at some length- about whether it is OK to express -expressly!- that I miss my home country. (I do. Deeply, profoundly.) But “Iran” is such a loaded word – with so many connotations, stereotypes, prejudices and mistrust. Some fair. Some unfair or uninformed. I almost always feel perched on or walking a tightrope up high, when talking about or hearing about Iran. This is not a carefree identity, but it is one that I care for fiercely. With uncompromising, legitimate pride. No fear or need of anyone’s permission for that. But that’s not the end of the story, because I’m a hyphenated person. The hyphen is the clasp knotting a necklace strung with seemingly incongruous beads – joining Iranian to American. Rumi to Walt Whitman. Not so incongruous, after all. The hyphen is a talisman. But a hyphenated identity is a mercurial one, its strength is its fluidity, fusion, and expansive comprehension; its flaw, the fact that it is learned not innate, and in the eyes of many, on either side of the hyphen, suspect. Maybe that’s why I’m a fan of Phillip Dick’s Blade Runner. I relate to the plight of the androids. But then again, I remember that there’s this globe, somehow balanced in the sky, in space, graced by the infinite mystery and majesty of the universe, and we’re all on it, and we’re all … just the same.]

On a less wordy more fun note, let’s end the tour of the tower with a tower of ice cream. I mean … WHOA!

Until next, off I go to dream of electric sheep.

ps. With all the talk of shahr’e farang, I’ll have to link to the fabulous Shahre Farang website. Go take a peek!

44 thoughts on “You Say I Ran, I say E Ron – (A Pictorial Peek)”

Great post, I love the antique contraption, so cool looking. The photo’s are beautiful and I do love your painting. The public space is breathtaking as is the vista. What a beautiful country and I can understand how much you miss it. You are such a wonderful writer, I hang onto every word.

Love your blog! Especially the photo of my beautiful cousin Banafsheh! I’m glad you are featuring her photos. Never been to Eye Ran (Oklahoma pronunciation) and am always glad to find new items about it on line. Keep them coming!

Hi Wendy, thank you and it is so nice to (e)meet you! I thought maybe people would be curious to know about Iran via real life pictures and am glad to have it confirmed, and have your beautiful cousin B to thank for it. I’ll keep them coming and hope you’ll keep coming back.

I LOVE your title. Chucklemaker. It’s so important to have these types of posts. Iran is so beautiful. The culture is so rich. The people are so accepting and generous. i wasn’t born there. I wasn’t raised there. But, I fell in love there. I fell in love with my new home. Erase whatever negative images with which you’ve been bombarded. Oh, please, please, if you haven’t gone…GO. If you’re going…take ME.
Thank you, Azita Joon and Banafsheh Khanum.

– Although I can’t empathise with your ‘homesickness’, especially as I couldn’t wait to escape where I grew up, I do appreciate the memories, or founding blocks of it all. If all I’ve learned from that time is simply that we are merely dwarfed by the beauty and magnitude of nature then I’m okay with that – for now.
– Love that you ended with the ginormous ice cream!

It’d have been entirely too maudlin and “smallest-violin-in-the-world” type of thing if not for the ginormous clownish ice cream! (Intrigued by your comment, wants me to ask you a bunch of questions but you are not one of those open-book let-it-all-hang-out bloggers so I’ll continue to dwell in mystery unless you want to share…)

Thank you, Mimi, really appreciate the support. Nodding head – hope so too. Little by little? I’m inspired by Ai Wei Wei http://arttattler.com/archiveaiweiwei.html … not that I in anyway deign to dare to compare self to him- but I like his model of inspiring change. Viva technology! :0

What an fascinating post. I read your heartfelt words and connected with what you wrote but I did love the way you then ended on a funnier note because as I read the line about a tower of…my eye glanced quickly down to the photo and whoa…is the word – I laughed – I have never seen an ice cream tower like that before. It reminded me a little of Mozaffar ad-Din Shah mustache!

Azita, I love each and every one of your posts. Thanks for sharing this snapshot of your heart (which correlates with the new wallpaper, which I love!) and your personal memories, knowledge and nostalgia. I definitely can relate as I feel the same about England every day.. I haven’t been back for a few years and it’s killing me, even though I love my new homeland of Australia. I love (LOVE!) your portrait of the Qajar king. The moustache is even better in your portrait… the stark white accentuates it’s majesty beautifully!! The ice cream tower is amazing also. I hope that you ate all of it. It deserves nothing less! Lots of love to you xx

Being born and raised in the Middle East, a Palestinian living in Amman. I understand the dilemma you face when you try to express nostalgia to Iran. Some people limit a country or a culture or even a whole religion to a headline they read in the paper or hear in the news. Trying to explain that it is so much more is not an easy task